


for the agony i'd rather know

by kingwellsjaha



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Camping AU, Hints of child abuse, M/M, more like three months dating, my soft bi boys, not really established relationship au, this has a very soft sad aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fuck this shit”, annoyed Bellamy throws away the matchbox. It hits the tent and bounces slightly off to the side.</p><p>Wells follows its movement. His eyes linger a moment on the matchbox. Bellamy can see him thinking. Wells’ face is a mask, trying to figure out the right thing to do as if this is a chess game that can be won.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the agony i'd rather know

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying to pump myself up for the no white savior challenge and other Wells related shenanigans, but this doesn't fit any prompt but still preoccupied my mind.
> 
> i don't know what this is. but i hope someone enjoys this. the title is from the song [Blindsided by Bon Iver](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaFXrOZDMBA), somehow the music just captures the mood. i recommend listening to it while reading.

“Fuck this shit”, annoyed Bellamy throws away the matchbox. It hits the tent and bounces slightly off to the side.

Wells follows its movement. His eyes linger a moment on the matchbox. Bellamy can see him thinking. Wells’ face is a mask, trying to figure out the right thing to do as if this is a chess game that can be won.

When he looks back to Bellamy, his face is neither angry, nor sad. He’s waiting. Bellamy wonders if that’s what Wells learned at home. To wait till the other person was making their next move, to wait till the anger lashed out. He hates this. He hates the very idea, that Wells could see something in Bellamy that reminds him of his father.

But at the same time, he feels so ugly and disgusting, that it fits. Of course Wells is reminded of his father. Isn’t Bellamy just like him? Just another asshole with anger issues and big ideas of how to save the world, but actual no real plan to do it. It really fits.

Wells looks back to the matchbox.

“Let me try”, he says calmly with a soft yet forced smile. Bellamy watches as Wells reaches out and gets the matchbox. He opens it and takes out a matchstick. Bellamy turns his head before he lightens it.

His hands curl together. He sighs.

“This is bullshit”.

He doesn’t turn back, but he knows that Wells looks up to him, matchstick and box in hands. His face is still probably neutral, just a little bit hurt. It’s strange they know each other for barely six months, but Bellamy already can trace Wells’ face in the dark.

Now he’s probably looking to the matchsticks and then to their improvised cooker. Bellamy knows that Wells just wants to fix this. Just wants to get the fire in the cooker going, wants to cook, hoping that it will fix Bellamy’s mood too.

Bellamy unclenches his fists. The anger and self-hate and the feeling that he’s probably the biggest asshole on this whole campsite, in the whole wide world even, overwhelms him. It’s all too much.

He grabs the toilet key and starts to move.

“Be right back”, he says half heartedly.

He’s not even sure if Wells has heard him, but he doesn’t follow him so he at least got the message. Or he’s just too tired to try.

Bellamy walks past the bushes that separates them from the strange wickerwork van. Just like an hour ago two girls are sitting there on a table. One of them with light brown hair is currently doing real wickerwork, while the other just watches her silently. Bellamy wonders if they ever talk.

He also passes them without even nodding. He passes the toilet house.

Although he has walked 30 kilometer this afternoon he has the deep wish to walk as far as possible or at least off the campsite. Maybe if he’s quick enough he can outrun his thoughts, maybe if he’s lucky enough he can outrun his feelings.

His eyes move to the small playground to the right. It’s not much, just a swing and a sandbox. Two teenagers sit at the sandbox, playing loud rap music while smoking a cigarette.

They look desperate and lonely. Bellamy feels their wish to rebel, their anger. They are waiting for their families to find them and if not to boast to each other of their hiding talent.

It would be embarrassing to watch if Bellamy couldn’t sympathize though he had never been like them. He never had the chance.

Images flicker across his mind. He shakes his head to make them go away, but it’s just impossible. Somehow he should’ve known that this would happen. He still doesn’t know what past Bellamy had thought while planning this trip.

Oh yeah, it’s certainly a good idea to plan a camping trip with someone you only have dated for three months. It’s also a good idea to plan a 50 kilometer tour for someone, who wasn’t used to hiking. Wells would probably insist that it’s his fault. He should’ve been honest. But Bellamy has the feeling that he should’ve known it in the first place.

Bellamy takes another look at the teenagers, for a moment he believes that he sees O. Maybe it’s in the way one of the girl sits. One leg over the other the cigarette careful between the fingers, as if she still has to learn how to do it.

The image flickers again and it’s just a white girl with brown hair. Bellamy wants to vomit. He walks past the playground instead.

In some way he can’t blame past Bellamy. He had just wanted to do the best, to share one of his best experiences, with a person he loved. There Bellamy said it. Past Bellamy had been good the last couple of months, so good, that he had forgotten part of his trauma.

He had only seen the big campsite his mother had always got them too. The laughter and the way O used to dance to the shitty radio music. It was one of the rare nice memories Bellamy had. The only real holiday he had ever known.

But that’s the thing with trauma it crawls its way through everything.

When Wells had been too slow, Bellamy had gotten angry, always turning back to his boyfriend with an annoyed expression, wondering how someone taller can be so slow. Wells had done what he always did, suffer in silence with a masked face. Bellamy had realized the irony when they had entered the camp.

He had gone strictly to the camp owner a woman called Indra, got them a place and shower coins. When Wells had tried to help him set up the tent, he had pushed him away. He knew better anyway. Wells had stayed calm the whole time.

It had hit Bellamy then. He had turned around and the image of his younger impassive face had just stared back. Something about how his mom had always ordered him to take care and blame him when he didn’t.

His hands had started to shake, while his memories had started to burn and falter, leaving room for darkness and despair.

When the improvised cooker hadn’t worked, they had made it out of a beer can, it just had set Bellamy off.

Bellamy turns away from the playground and walks again back to the toilet house into the small bar next to it. Indra greets him, a little bit friendlier this time.

He puts money on the table and asks for another shower coin.

The warm shower lasts for five minutes, afterwards he feels a little bit calmer.

A surprise waits for him back at their tent. The water in the pot is boiling, Wells fixed the cooker.

He grins at Bellamy and Bellamy has to smile back.

“You made the cooker work”, he says and sits down next to Wells.

Wells nodds. He looks less tense now.

“To be honest, the girl with the motorbike, that made this awful loud noise, when we got here, fixed it. Her name is Raven”, he added.

“How?”, Bellamy asks looking at the water.

“By adding more gasoline”, Wells explains flatly. He takes his slightly wet towel and gets the pot of the cooker. Quickly he pulls out their self made meal, couscous with raisins and a lot of spice and pours it right in. Bellamy watches as the water turns yellow.

“As payment she wants to eat with us”, Wells explains while stirring.

“Oh”, Wells still isn’t done, he looks behind him, “the girls from the van. They were so kind to share their drinks with us, so we have a beer and coke”.

He puts the cans between them. His smile is soft now, almost like a silent question, carefully testing if Bellamy’s better now.

Bellamy looks at the cans and smiles.

“They’re called Harper and Monroe. The workshop is supposed to be related to therapy. I didn’t really understand it”.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows and turns to the bushes. From here he can only see the roof of the mini van.

“They also don’t talk much, because Monroe has a cold”, Wells explains further.

Bellamy looks back at him.

“It’s seems like you’ve made friends with everyone while I was gone”, he jokes. It falls slightly flat, but Wells still manages to smile and nodds. He takes out his spoon and takes the first bite.

After some consideration he approves, nodding slightly and passing another spoon to Bellamy.

“Coke or beer?”, he asks.

“Coke”. Bellamy doesn’t really feel like getting drunk.

They start to eat in silence, after some time Wells adds canned tomatoes to the mix.

Bellamy wants to apologize, but doesn’t know how to. The silence between them feels like a peace offering. Let’s forget about this day and focus on the next.

Raven breaks the silence. She’s just as loud as her engine. She greets Wells with a smile, sitting down next to him a plate and a fork in hand.

Her eyes glance curiously over him. Wells is kind enough to introduce them.

Afterwards Raven talks mostly to Wells, commenting on the food and weather.

Every now and then, when Raven looks at her plate, Wells and Bellamy exchange glances. Silently they tell each other their thoughts.

Wells clearly likes Raven, finds her funny and smart, although her brash personality is foreign to him. Bellamy on the other hand doesn’t care that much, although he has the feeling that he could, when he’s in a better mood, maybe tomorrow.

“So”, Wells and Raven have finally passed the talking about university stuff, “I hope I’m not being insensitive”, she looks from Wells to Bellamy, “but are you like…”, now she’s pointing with her fork at them. She swallows, “... a couple?”

Bellamy can feel Wells freezing next to him. They had decided not to put labels on it. Not so soon, although Bellamy had subconsciously called him his boyfriend ever since.

“Yep”, it’s the first thing he directly says to her.

She looks back to Wells for confirmation. Wells looks slightly surprised, but nods. Raven’s smile gets wider.

“Cool”, she says and finishes her plate.

Afterwards they sit together for a while, looking at the sky that is quickly turning dark.

Wells’ hand brushes against his a few times.

With a wave Raven gets up and leaves and they are left again in silence.

Wells pours a little bit more gasoline into the cooker and light another match. He gets out the marshmallows. Bellamy watches as he puts three on a very thin branch and holds them across the flame.

“Is it like you remember it?”, he finally asks.

“Yeah”, Bellamy answers, “maybe a little bit too much”.

Wells turns his head. In the dark Bellamy only sees the part of Wells’ face that is lit by the flame. There’s a question on Wells’ face, but he’s not asking it.

“Did you seriously never go camping?”, Bellamy asks throwing the ball back at Wells.

Wells inspects the marshmallows but deems them not ready. It’s quiet for a few minutes. They both watch the flames. Bellamy almost thinks that Wells will ignore the question.

“No, when I was eight, we went once, but only for two nights.” He inspects the marshmallows once again. This time it’s better he holds out the branch to Bellamy. Bellamy pulls closer and leans close to the branch.

The marshmallow is hot as he touches his lips, but it doesn’t burn him.

“I bet your father had the money to buy a big ass tent”. Unlike the one Bellamy could afford.

“He had”, Wells says. It’s quiet.

Maybe talking about his father wasn’t the best idea.

Wells looks up to the sky.

“I always slept next to my mother”, Wells smiles at the fire, “it was the last vacation we took, afterwards she got too sick”.

Wells turns his head again to look at him. There’s sadness in his eyes and Bellamy wonders if he’s mirroring that sadness. If Wells is offering him a part of his private memories, so that Bellamy loses up and gives him his.

But Wells never demands sacrifice and memory, Bellamy already knows that. It was the first lesson he had learned in this relationship. Wells never demands.

Bellamy reaches out his hand. His fingers ghost over Wells’ arm, go higher to his neck. He touches Wells’ cheek. Let’s his hand rest there. They stay like this.

Wells waits for Bellamy’s next move. He starts to smile a little bit and Bellamy smiles back.

He leans closer. Their kiss is soft. They brush their lips together. Their noses accidentally follow that example.

Bellamy has his eyes closed, but he can feel that Wells is smiling into the kiss. His hand moves further up Wells’ hair. While he feels Wells’ hands creep up his waist. They kiss again and again, till the cooker is out. Till it’s so dark that they can only sense the other through touch.

“Let’s go to bed”, Wells whispers. Bellamy nods but doesn’t let go. He still lingers in this new memory.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this tell me, if not tell me what you really really hated.  
> have a great day!


End file.
